


Case No. 002: By the Last Light

by miserylovedme



Series: The Apocalypse Files [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Comic Book Violence, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserylovedme/pseuds/miserylovedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re just superheroes trying to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Case No. 002: By the Last Light

**Author's Note:**

> I once used to write in bandom on lj under the name miserylovedme. The decision to delete my livejournal was a personal one and I apologize that it had the unfortunate side effect of upsetting people.
> 
> If you see this (or any of my works) posted elsewhere, please let me know. I have never given permission for my writing to be reposted.
> 
> Nothing has been edited since this work was originally posted, so please forgive any errors or potential grammar mistakes. And, potentially, the content; I don't even remember what this story is about.
> 
>  
> 
> Original post date: 5.5.08

The moment Gabe first realized he was completely and painfully in love with Patrick was an unfortunate one in that Patrick was in the process of being strangled to death.

Gabe, for all his psychokinetic abilities, was unable to dislodge the pickup truck from his leg. His weakness, as only he and Control knew, was the inability to move jack _shit_ when he was distracted.

And watching Patrick’s hands scrabble for hold on his captor’s wrists? That was pretty distracting.

But then Pete, fucking Pete, was there using that goddamned energy _thing_ and knocking their current villain backwards into a lamppost which bent under the force. Gabe was able to free himself after that and make a break for them. But Pete was holding Patrick up and taking to the sky already.

The fight was forfeit, they didn’t win; they were running. And, while that left a bitter taste in Gabe’s mouth, he knew, following behind Pete, that if they didn’t get out of there the three of them would be as dead as Alex on the ground below them.

Gabe clenched his eyes against the sudden burning sensation that thought created.

Alex…

 

\--

 

Patrick was taken to the infirmary immediately upon their return. Pete stuck around long enough to rub Gabe’s arm when he reported the loss of Alex to Control, but then vanished off immediately after.

Gabe didn’t really care all that much. He was fairly certain his leg was broken—and probably already healing incorrectly—but the last thing he really wanted to do was go lay in a hospital bed beside Patrick and watch Pete hold his hand and fawn all over him. He was just about to turn and head for his room when Nate, the one and only Control member he associated with on a first name basis, slammed into him from behind, arms tight around his waist, gushing about his return and Gabe was pretty sure that just snapped whatever progress his bones had made on their own in half.

He headed for the infirmary.

 

\--

 

Watching Patrick heal beside him turned out to be a lot more painful than Gabe had initially guessed it would have been. Patrick was awake a lot and whenever he was—even when he wasn’t—Pete was there talking to him.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Patrick being awake to respond or Pete’s endless touching when he wasn’t. Gabe did his level best to ignore them altogether and just get his half-healed leg back into action as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, Control didn’t think that was a good idea. Being ordered to stay put while Pete and fucking _Gerard_ , of all possible candidates, go out on reconnaissance is enough to drive him mad. He spends as much as he can of the first day alone, away from the infirmary and Patrick and his thoughts until Gerard’s creepy little brother finds him.

The thing about Mikey is that he doesn’t talk. He’s not sure anyone knows for certain if Mikey was even able to speak before half of his face was blown off in an explosion two years previous. Even with the robotics, an even-better-than-human face—the doctors had said—he doesn’t say a word. Gabe’s never heard his voice; he doesn’t know anyone who has, except maybe Gerard. And the silent staring makes Gabe’s skin crawl a little.

They’re sitting outside in the half-enclosed courtyard, Gabe tossing smooth, rounded pebbles towards the nearby pond. He just wants Pete to come back with news. And Gerard. Anything to get Mikey away from him. He’d wandered out with his sights trained on Gabe, purposefully, about an hour before and hasn’t left his side since.

“I don’t suppose you know when your brother’s coming back.” It’s not a question really. Gabe huffs out a bored breath and he stretches his legs. There’s a dull twinge of pain, but nothing that should keep him out of commission much longer.

Mikey doesn’t even look at him.

Creepy little fucker.

Not that Gerard’s much better. He’d been sort of, almost normal when he’d come to them with the ability to set things on fire when he was angry; afraid of himself, his gift and not knowing how to control it. But when Mikey was attacked, Gerard… no one had ever seen Gerard like that before. It still sends shocks of fear through Gabe’s mind to think about. His eyes had blanked to white and all color had drained from his hair. _Everything_ , including Gabe, Pete and Spencer, had caught fire in a wild blaze that took up instantly. Everything but Mikey. Even Gerard himself had been burning.

His hair never had regained its former black state. Gerard didn’t seem to mind, so long as Mikey was okay.

Gabe looks over when he senses Mikey staring and gives him a half-smile. Mikey always seems to know when someone is thinking about him. Gabe looks back down to the pebbles in his hand and lifts the smallest with little thought and flicks it through the air; Mikey narrows his eyes just the slightest bit and it vanishes mid-arch.

Gabe shakes his head and Mikey actually cracks a small smile.

 

\--

 

Upon their return, Pete reports back on their status and leaves immediately for the infirmary. Mikey fits himself tightly into Gerard’s arms and the two fade out of sight almost instantly without a word from either one of them.

Fucking creepy.

 

\--

 

“I’m not sure this is actually a good idea,” Gabe says, peeking around the side of the building he and Pete are crouched behind. Pete’s arm is cut, he’s holding the hand not bracing himself on the ground against his wound. It smells like burnt hair. Gabe barely keeps himself from gagging.

“Not a whole lot we can do about it now,” Pete snaps, moving to sit against the wall. His breath is coming uneven and his eyes are shut in a deliberately relaxed state. Gabe almost laughs at the fact that Pete is finding his happy place right now.

He refrains and stays crouched, unable to give up his alert state. “This’d be a hell of a lot easier with Patrick.” And Gabe really didn’t mean to say that; it sounded almost accusing as it left his mouth, like Patrick had _meant_ to nearly die on his last mission.

Pete cracks his eyes open to glare across the short distance at Gabe, who has the grace to flush. He peeks back around the corner.

“You’d think the fact that we just lost Alex and Spencer a month ago would make you more hesitant to put Patrick back in the line of duty.” Pete’s voice is snobbish in the way that never ceases to make Gabe’s eyes roll.

Instead of responding verbally, he reaches over and digs his finger into Pete’s wound. Pete cries out and suddenly Gabe is flying out into the street and smashing into the opposing building. His chest feels like it’s been crushed. He can barely breathe; were it not for the instinctual reaction of his mind to try to block Pete’s own natural defense he knows he’d probably be dead right now.

Gabe props himself up on his hands and knees and just tries to breathe.

Pete is at his side when he opens his eyes. He doesn’t remember laying down on the sidewalk, especially not in a puddle, so he figures he must have passed out.

“Sorry.” Pete doesn’t sound very sorry.

Gabe shrugs and immediately regrets it as a bolt of pain spikes through his arm and he damn-near throws up.

“What the fuck was that for?” Pete asks, still holding his arm.

For a minute Gabe doesn’t know what Pete’s talking about. Then he remembers their mini-argument, pressing his finger into Pete’s torn flesh, _Patrick_. Gabe struggles to sit up, Pete doesn’t help him.

“Proving a point.”

“And that is?”

Gabe is panting by the time he gets sitting upright. He looks at Pete through Pete’s sweaty, matted-down bangs. “You’re injured.”

“And?”

“Patrick could fight if he wanted.”

Pete’s eyes narrow again and he stands, arm limp at his side. Gabe’s not so sure the wound is superficial anymore. When Pete responds, it’s in a tight voice, “Your feelings towards Patrick are completely transparent.”

Gabe’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Challenging his recovery to hide them is ridiculous.” Gabe tries to interrupt but Pete doesn’t give him the chance. “Don’t fuck with Patrick.” Pete’s feet lift off the ground. The streets around them are completely destroyed but the fight is over. There’s nothing more to be accomplished by them staying. “Next time I’ll take your goddamn head off.”

 

\--

 

It isn’t that Patrick really needed weeks to recover from almost being strangled to death. In truth, physically, he could have been back out with the guys a day or two later. But Control wanted him to undergo the fucking therapy again.

“One freak out and you’re damned to a life of _so how does that make you feel?_ ’s an hour a day from someone more fucked up than you are, probably.”

Pete laughs, leaning into Patrick’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his temple. It’s the first day Patrick’s been allowed outside in almost a month. Pete can’t say he blames Control for the mandatory psychoanalysis Patrick is continually forced to go through, but he’d never say it out loud. It’s not that Patrick’s weak; it’s just that when Patrick lost control the one time it ever got away from him, a lot of people died. Patrick doesn’t remember what really happened. They’ve kept it from him; Pete assumes they always will.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Pete tells him, avoiding the topic entirely.

Patrick sighs and puts his arm around Pete’s waist as they walk around the courtyard together. “Me too. It’s like solitary confinement when I can’t hear what you’re thinking.” Pete laughs at that. “Your mind never shuts the hell up. I don’t know what to do with myself when it’s quiet.”

The brothers are seated close by near the pond. Pete’s gaze drags over the way Mikey is nodding along to whatever Gerard is whispering in his ear; their hands are folded together. Mikey looks up a moment later and Pete averts his eyes. He squeezes Patrick even closer around the shoulders and hangs on. “My thoughts have to get boring.”

Patrick shrugs. “I don’t listen to everything I hear. It’s like white noise; it’s comforting. When they have me back there, it blocks all sound. Makes my head hurt to be that clear.”

Pete doesn’t think about Patrick in confinement, instead he says, “Any idea when you’ll be back out there with us?”

Pete knows he’s slipped up immediately. Patrick glances up, his eyes narrowed and searching. “’Us’?” Pete never has any interest in anyone other than himself—and Patrick, regardless of the familial status they’ve all taken up with each other, the bond as freaks and warriors alike.

He tries to wave it off. “You know we all miss you.”

Pete’s head suddenly feels like it’s going to explode when Patrick pushes in with his mind. Pete releases him immediately and stumbles sideways, gripping both sides of his head and pushing hard, trying for counter-pressure, which does nothing. “Patrick!” Patrick doesn’t let up, just follows as Pete hits his knees and folds in on himself.

Patrick’s well aware that this will result in a lot more _and how does that make you feel?_ ’s but he can’t bring himself to care. Pete _never_ hides from him. It’s impossible; Patrick reads his fucking thoughts before Pete even hears them. Patrick isn’t going to let him start now.

Pete cries out, high and panicked; behind him Mikey tries to advance and Gerard stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“ _Please!_ Patrick, please!”

Patrick doesn’t let up until Pete’s nose starts to bleed. He lifts off immediately and Pete collapses into the grass, panting desperately, still holding his head. Patrick knows Control has probably already sent them out for him. He gets to his knees beside Pete and wipes the blood from his upper lip, cleaning his thumb off on his pant leg. Pete looks up at him, eyes squinted even though the sun has been hidden behind clouds all day.

“You could never be me,” Patrick says, the side of his mouth lifting in a sad smile.

Pete laughs and the sound almost makes him throw up. He rolls onto his side, groaning, and reaches out a hand. Patrick takes it.

“I don’t want to be you,” Pete whispers, unable to take even the sound of his own voice. Patrick hasn’t done this to him in over a year. He hasn’t forgotten just how deadly the weight of Patrick’s power is, but he certainly has pushed the pain away from his memory.

“Don’t lie,” Patrick says simply.

Pete shakes his head, just slightly and Patrick sees him wince. “You don’t lie.”

“I do.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Just tell me, Pete.” Patrick’s voice is calm even though they can both hear the Control member approaching to remove Patrick from the courtyard. It’s back to confinement and analysis for another week or two.

Pete looks up at him, the cool grass on the side of his head is almost soothing to the heat left behind, making his face throb. “You’re a dick.”

“Something I don’t know.”

A cautious hand touches Patrick’s shoulder as the Control member bends down to tell him it’s time to go inside. They ignore it.

“Talk to Gabe.” Pete may not particularly like Gabe, but he won’t betray him either. Trust is a shaky enough issue as it is without the fear of selling each other out; even if it is just to Patrick.

Patrick’s eyes narrow and he allows himself to be lead to his feet. Pete just lays on the grass watching even as another Control member asks him if he needs medical attention. Patrick doesn’t break their trance-like eye contact until he’s pulled inside. Pete drops his head against the grass, closes his eyes and says, “Yes.”

 

\--

 

Unfortunately it takes another three weeks before Patrick even so much as sees Gabe again. Even more unfortunately it’s another near death scene. They never used to have this much trouble bringing down the opposition, but since their enemies have started recruiting other gifted individuals like themselves, it’s getting harder.

Patrick is vaguely aware of the fact that his arm is broken. Pete shouts over the explosion he himself just created at Gabe to get Patrick the fuck back. Gabe does his ready best to pull Patrick down a side alley and tell him to wait there, but Patrick latches onto his arm and pulls him down.

“I gotta help Pete,” Gabe rushes, palming Patrick’s cheek in a move that is far too intimate for the horror going on around them. Pete is alone out there.

Patrick barely has time to say, “Gerard’s here.” before an eerie silence falls and then a sharp crackling and _intense_ heat take over. Screams and more explosions drive Gabe to grab Patrick and pull him further away. Three streets away, actually, before the heat from Gerard’s fury-induced fire isn’t a danger to their clothes fusing with their skin.

Patrick leans against Gabe’s side and pants, sleeve starting to soak through with blood. There’s a bone protrusion from the skin, he knows it, he can feel it, but he’s certainly not going to fucking look at it.

Gabe slides down into a crouch and Patrick follows. He rolls up his pant leg to examine the shot he took. Sometimes Pete’s energy can be captured and thrown back at them. Sometimes it nearly takes a limb with it. Gabe’s fairly certain he’s lucky to still be walking at this point. He sighs and tilts his head back. Things were a lot easier before Bert turned.

“Not a lot,” Patrick says, jolting Gabe from his thoughts.

“What?” Patrick just points to Gabe’s head, lifting his uninjured arm. Gabe laughs lightly. “Sometimes I forget you can do that.”

Patrick’s really not sure how anyone can forget that he knows their brains better than they do. “Bert was never all that strong.”

“Yeah but it was easier when he wasn’t trying to kill us, knowing what he does.”

Patrick sits down fully on the ground. There’s a low rumble from another of Pete’s bigger, more powerful explosions, closer this time. Gabe shifts, getting ready to grab Patrick and flee if he has to. When Patrick doesn’t respond, Gabe looks at him to find Patrick’s eyes pinned on him. All he says is, “Pete.” and Gabe’s mind whirls back to the conversation he had about Patrick before he even realizes what Patrick’s done. Gabe flies to his feet and clamps his hands down over his ears as he paces away, his thoughts changing immediately to reciting the Constitution.

Patrick gets to his feet when another rumble sends flaming debris raining down into their hiding spot. Gabe backs up and lifts from the ground. Patrick stares up at him for just a brief moment as Mikey appears in the alley entrance with Pete slumped over his shoulder. Gerard is just behind and he shouts, “Go!”

Gabe shoots off before Patrick has the chance to say a word; he follows as quickly as he can, the heat from Gerard singeing his pant legs. Mikey grabs onto his brother and they blink out of sight before the fire can overwhelm them.

 

\--

 

Patrick doesn’t have time to push the issue because a quietly intimidating man shows up at Control the next day and there’s just too much else to focus on. His name is Bob, he has the ability to manipulate sound waves and light to head-exploding levels. He also knows Bert. Control wants him but Bob also brings with him his love interest; a short dark-haired thing covered in tattoos and absolutely no supernatural abilities whatsoever. Humans, normal humans, aren’t allowed for any reason, ever into the building.

But Bob can’t protect his interest, Frank, they come to find out, because as well as Bob knows Bert, Bert knows him right back. Frank is his weakness and he needs a place to hide him.

Control accepts his demands and Bob joins their efforts immediately.

Patrick is assigned—under careful supervision—to be the one to teach Bob how to shut his mind off, to keep Frank away from his thoughts. He’s taught them all how to do this, with the exception of how to hide from himself. Patrick’s comfort level is determined by who he can hear; he knows they’re safe when he can read their thoughts.

Bob, in turn, tells them that Bert has been targeting Mikey to draw Gerard out. He’s been learning their abilities, watching and studying them. And now that he knows Gerard’s trigger, the last one he needs to get at is Patrick.

Control puts Patrick under immediate lockdown.

Patrick hates Bob a little.

 

\--

 

Gabe’s fast asleep when the alarm sounds. He groans loudly and flings his covers back. The last fucking thing he wants to do is get up and fight in the middle of the night. He grumbles to himself as he fumbles in the dark for his clothes and practically falls out into the hallway.

However the only other person in the hall is Pete and he’s got Patrick pressed to the wall, grinding against him. Their mouths are sealed together but somehow Patrick is still panting and moaning, fingers twisting in Pete’s hair and tugging his head back. Gabe gapes at the arch of Patrick’s back, the way his hips lift to rub against Pete’s.

Gabe is moving before he can stop himself. His fingers dig deep into Pete’s upper arms and he turns and puts Pete’s head right through the wall. Patrick cries out, lunging forward. Gabe hits the wall beside Pete’s limp body, hanging awkwardly from the metal and Patrick shakes him, yelling at him to wake up.

Gabe’s eyes snap open and he gasps, bolting upright so fast that he gets a head rush. His heart is throbbing in his chest, threatening to burst right through his ribcage and his upper body is completely sweat-soaked. He looks around wildly into the darkness of his room.

A dream. Just a dream.

_Nightmare_ , his mind echoes.

Gabe nods to himself and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. Definitely a nightmare.

A few seconds later, as Gabe has just tossed back the covers to get up and change his shirt, there’s a quiet knock at the door. His heart rate skyrockets again before he’s able to train his face back to calm and pull it open.

Patrick looks back at him and Gabe realizes, with a certainty that scares him, that it hadn’t been _his_ mind at all that had said it was a nightmare. It was Patrick. Patrick who had almost certainly been watching his dream.

Gabe swallows hard but opens the door further, allowing Patrick to step inside. He closes it behind him, damp shirt hanging in one hand; he drops it to the floor before turning back to Patrick, who is standing too close. Gabe would step back if it wouldn’t put him right up against the door.

“You need to stop,” Patrick tells him bluntly but not at all unkindly. “It wouldn’t work.”

Gabe doesn’t bother trying to play dumb. Patrick knows what he’s going to think before Gabe knows it. He rubs at his eyes again before sighing. “I can’t help it, Patrick. You _know_ that.” Patrick merely continues looking at him, but it feels understanding, so Gabe continues. “I wouldn’t if I could make myself.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Could you fucking not for just a second?” Gabe snaps, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “I thought you stayed out of our heads unless you had to.”

Patrick actually looks slightly ashamed in the darkness of Gabe’s room. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound too overly repentant but Gabe will take it.

“All right,” he says, sighing into his hand before rubbing his palm over his sleep-tousled hair. “It’s not like I’m gonna jump you or some shit,” he says after a while. “I’ll get over it.”

Patrick paces a little around the room; it’s not very big so there isn’t a lot of area for him to walk, but he drums his fingers on his folded arms and manages to make it feel like he’s putting a world of distance between himself and Gabe.

“Maybe—” he starts but cuts himself off. Gabe sits down on the edge of the bed and watches him walk. “Maybe I don’t want you to get over it.”

That wasn’t at all what Gabe was expecting to hear from Patrick; he’s glad he was sitting down already. “What?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Patrick snaps, looking over at him. Even in the dark Gabe can see the color on his cheeks and the way his knuckles have turned white from gripping his arms.

“Sorry.” Patrick doesn’t respond and after a while Gabe says, “What about Pete?”

Patrick’s gaze is cold and challenging. “What about him?”

Gabe shrugs a little. “I thought you two were, kinda… you know.”

Patrick scoffs a little. “Years ago, Gabriel.” The use of his proper name makes Gabe cringe. “Have you ever seen us be more than what we are?”

Gabe takes a moment to really think about all the times he’s seen Pete and Patrick touching, talking, using one another for support; Pete’s violently over-protective attitude about Patrick. Everything. And, “No, not really, I guess.” Gabe feels absolutely deflated and yet strangely empty, like everything Patrick is telling him isn’t leading towards something good. He continues cautiously. “Gerard and Mikey—”

“Don’t bring them into this,” Patrick says as he stops pacing. His gaze is threatening and Gabe can feel a slight pressure on his mind. He drops it immediately.

The room goes quiet again until Gabe quietly asks, “So this means what about us?”

Patrick’s side profile is in full view as he sighs and turns just his head to look at Gabe. “It means that it’s never going to happen, Gabe.”

There is absolutely no point in arguing with someone who can crush your head and make your brain leak out your ears. He nods slowly; Gabe just wants to go back to bed and pretend this never happened.

Patrick takes pity on him, it seems. He just nods back and says a quiet, “Okay.” before opening the door and slipping out, lingering for just one hesitated second that keeps Gabe hoping against hope that just maybe…

 

\--

 

Pete is the one who happens upon Frank without Bob for the first time since the two were allowed in. He’s standing at the easternmost door to the courtyard, just staring outside like it’s the most fascinating piece of land he’s ever had the pleasure to view.

Pete’s power may not be stealth but he manages to sneak up on Frank and scare the shit out of him. At least that’s what Frank says when he turns and slaps Pete’s upper arm while clutching his chest with the other hand. “God, don’t _do_ that!”

He half expects some insulting mutant comment before he remembers that Frank is the one riding Bob’s dick every night. He knows, he’s happened by their room a few times. Definitely not on purpose.

Pete looks over Frank’s shoulder. Frank may be short but not short enough that Pete can really catch a good view over his head. When he looks back from the sight of Gerard’s hand down the front of Mikey’s pants and Mikey arching against his chest, mouth open in increasingly desperate gasps for air, Frank has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I just thought they were brothers or something,” he offers as an explanation.

Pete takes another look at where Mikey is now pressing his forehead to Gerard’s, eyes clenched and face tense on the edge of orgasm in broad daylight and moderate supervision from Control, and then puts his arm around Frank’s shoulder, leading him away. Mikey deserves to come in semi-privacy.

Pete grins a little when he says, “They are.”

 

\--

 

It takes over a week before anyone really notices enough of a problem to mention it and it takes another week for Pete to approach Patrick about it. No one is willing to take the brunt of one of Patrick’s outbursts like Pete; everyone knows Patrick holds back on Pete more than he would for anyone else anyway.

So Pete comes to his room after dinner one night and sits on his bed while Patrick pretends to be engrossed in whatever he’s reading at his desk.

“So what did you say to Gabe?”

Pete watches Patrick’s hand twitch but he doesn’t otherwise react. “Nothing important.”

“See, now you’re lying.” Patrick glances at him but goes right back to his book without saying a word. Pete stands and leans against the back of the chair, curling his arms around Patrick’s neck and nuzzling his face down into his hair. “I thought you weren’t gonna lie to me anymore.”

“I don’t lie to you Pete, I avoid the issue,” Patrick tells him, marking his page and attempting to pry Pete’s hands off him. It only works for a moment before Pete pulls the chair out and straddles Patrick’s thighs. The initial rush of heat through his body is immediately clamped down upon as Patrick grips his hips to keep him from losing balance.

Pete’s arms go back around his neck and he sighs, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Patrick’s mouth. Patrick resists for a moment, making an indignant sound and tilting his head back, but Pete just squirms closer, holding his head in place and pressing against Patrick’s lips with his tongue.

“Come on,” he whispers, “it’s just me, Patrick.”

And Patrick relents, his lips parting and Pete takes immediate advantage, surging forward with a light moan and sucking Patrick’s tongue into his mouth. Patrick’s returning groan is weak, but his fingers dig into Pete’s waist, holding him close.

When they break apart, it’s only for air and Pete keeps close, his forehead against Patrick’s, unwilling to pull away entirely. It’s been _years_ since they’ve touched like this. “You said I made you weak,” Pete whispers, lips brushing Patrick’s.

“You still do.” Patrick’s voice is hoarse and low, coming from the back of his throat, making him sound more desperate than he really feels.

Pete shakes his head, kissing Patrick again, their lips moving together slowly, the wet sounds making Patrick’s arms break out in goosebumps. Pete presses just the tiniest bit closer. “It’s gonna suck being the only single one around here when you two hook up.” 

Patrick nearly pushes Pete right off of him onto the floor. “We’re not gonna hook up.”

“You think he’ll make you weak.” It’s not a question at all.

“He _will_ make me fucking weak. Christ, Pete, the whole reason we broke up was because I lost it that one time when you were dying—”

“Stop,” Pete says simply. Patrick is clutching him too tightly and having Patrick rethink things that happened years and years ago isn’t going to clear up the situation at hand. “Nothing happened.”

“You were _dying_.”

Pete shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. “I _didn’t_ die, is the point.”

“Still almost my fault.”

Pete sighs and pulls back, resting his hands on Patrick’s sides and twisting his fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter because nothing came of it.”

Patrick is the most unguarded he’s ever allowed himself to be since he underwent his first training to control his gift when he says, “I lost you because of it.”

Pete averts his eyes, staring down hard at where their thighs touch. He doesn’t say anything, biting the insides of his lips for a while. “That was a long time ago,” he finally says, looking up to meet Patrick’s eyes.

“Yet here we are.”

“This doesn’t mean anything, Patrick.” Pete reaches up and cups the back of Patrick’s neck, trailing his fingertips over the roots of his hair. “We wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Whenever we fight you’d smash my brain with your superiorness and then I’d end up hating you for my constant migraines because I get on your nerves all the time.”

Patrick laughs a little, but it’s weak and wet-sounding to Pete’s ears. He leans down to rest his head on Patrick’s shoulder, pressing his face into his neck and kissing lightly; he strokes the other side with his hand and Patrick tightens his hold. “I still love you,” Patrick tells him quietly.

“I love you too, Patrick.” Pete’s response is just as quiet.

It takes a long time for Patrick to give a voice to what’s happening, but he does. “That’s all we are.”

Pete nods, just barely. “That’s all we are,” he echoes.

Patrick sighs and tilts his head to rest his cheek against Pete’s forehead and Pete kisses his throat again. “It won’t hurt me if you want him,” Pete says.

Patrick can feel the way Pete deliberately keeps his thoughts free; Patrick takes the invitation for what it is and listens to what Pete thinks. He’s not lying, but he’s wistful and the overwhelming feel of loneliness saturates everything in Pete’s head. Patrick just holds him.

“He’ll still make me weak.”

Pete shrugs a little. “Mikey makes Gerard weak. Frank makes Bob weaker than anything I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” Patrick’s silent laugh makes Pete smile against his skin; he edges his fingers up under the back of Pete’s shirt and rubs gently.

“That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” Patrick tells him.

Pete sounds utterly too reasonable when he says, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad one either.”

Patrick doesn’t respond but he’s not ready to let Pete go just yet; so he doesn’t.

 

\--

 

The next time Gabe and Gerard are sent out on a mission together, it’s supposed to be only to do routine surveillance on a building one of Bert’s associates has been seen going in and out of.

What ends up happening is that they’re ambushed by this _thing_ that the man beside it calls Chadam. Its touch is completely poisonous and Gabe ends up running off, once again, carrying Gerard in his arms. Gerard throws up on him three times before he’s able to get him back and directly into the infirmary.

He only leaves his side when Mikey shoves one of their physicians out of the way hard enough to dent the wall to get to his brother’s side.

Gabe’s getting pretty fucking sick of running away from every single fight they get into. He can’t remember the last time they actually did something productive. Instead they’re losing team members and getting poisoned by things with huge square-shaped heads and tentacles for arms. Some great deal they’re doing for society.

It’s times like these that Gabe wonders why exactly the government funds what they do.

 

\--

 

“How’s Gerard doing?” Patrick’s voice doesn’t startle Gabe, but it isn’t exactly what he was expecting at three in the morning out in the courtyard; he can’t help but jump a little.

“Hey,” he says as Patrick sits down beside him, huddled up in his hoodie, hands in the front pocket. “He’s all right. He stopped puking yesterday.”

Patrick nods. “Good. Mikey was kinda…” he waves his hand in a slight circle as he trails off. Gabe knows exactly what he means. He just nods and leans his head back on top of his knees and looks off at the sky. “Are you okay?” Patrick continues after a while of just watching his own barely-visible breath float away in the cold night air.

Gabe turns his head slightly so he can see Patrick when he says, “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just really fucking tired of us never actually winning anymore.”

Patrick’s nod is sympathetic this time. “I think if they’d just let us all out at once we could actually kill someone.”

Gabe laughs a little. “Nothing like the direct approach.”

“There’s nothing they can tell us that we don’t already know. They’re trying to kill us, so we need to kill them before they accomplish that.”

Gabe really tries not to think about Spencer and Alex.

“Sorry,” Patrick says, looking down at where he’s picking at the grass. Obviously Gabe wasn’t able to keep a rein on those thoughts.

“It’s fine.”

Patrick knows it’s not, but he doesn’t say anything. He stays quiet and only filters through Gabe’s loudest thoughts. Most of which concern memories of he and Alex goofing around together and the last time he made Spencer laugh before he went down in a bloody blaze of glory. Patrick clears his throat and continues pulling blades of grass out, arranging them in his hand in size order. Then comes a thought about Patrick.

It’s a memory, one that doesn’t exist, events that never actually happened. Patrick focuses on it and blocks out Pete—who he can hear even in his sleep—and latches on. It’s a fantasy, something Gabe wants. It’s just them together and Patrick lets Gabe kiss him when he tries.

“It wouldn’t work,” Patrick blurts out, shifting focus to Pete dreaming about bats.

Gabe looks at him, shaking his head and smiling. “You really don’t have any shame, do you?”

Patrick happens to think he has a lot of shame and most of it is showing up in blush-form on his cheeks at the moment. Thankfully it’s dark and Gabe doesn’t actually have night vision abilities. Small favors.

Patrick twists up the grass in his hand and carefully knots the longest pieces together. “It just wouldn’t,” he says, sounding embarrassed and a little grumpy.

Gabe reaches over and takes the grass knot from Patrick, rolling it up into a ball between his palms and them mind-flicking it at Patrick’s head. “You told me that one already.”

“Still true.” Patrick sounds grumpier than before.

Gabe leans back to really look at him. “Are you pouting?”

Patrick’s fairly certain his blush is going to be neon soon. “No.”

Gabe sighs. “Look, Patrick, I’m not Captain Honesty or anything, but at least I’m able to come to terms with what I want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before he responds, Gabe stands and takes his sweet time brushing off his pants and stretching his back. “Lie to everyone else, man,” he says, “but not yourself.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Then quit bringing it up.”

Patrick stands, indignant, hastily wiping his palms on his thighs, glaring up, as intimidating as he can, at Gabe; which isn’t too impressive at his short height but is a lot more frightening when you consider just how scary Patrick is when he gets mad. Gabe folds his arms when Patrick responds. “I don’t want you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Patrick is certain his skin would flush even more if it were possible. “I don’t care.”

“You do.”

Gabe is taunting him. He has the sudden urge to reach out and crush Gabe’s thoughts with his own. Instead he shoves him, hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps, arms flailing out for balance.

Gabe doesn’t really play fair in that he’s over a foot taller than Patrick but he still lunges forward, the instant he catches himself, and knocks Patrick to the ground. He doesn’t throw a punch but he does lean down and press his mouth hard against Patrick’s.

Patrick groans wildly before he can stop himself, reaching up with both arms to pull Gabe down against him. Gabe’s responding moan is more surprise than anything else. He didn’t expect Patrick to not read his thoughts and be able to avoid him. He doesn’t allow himself to consider the fact that maybe he did and still didn’t move.

The kiss breaks and Patrick shoves Gabe off of him, sitting up and panting hard, the cold air burning his throat and lungs. Gabe remains on his back on the grass for a full minute in the silence between them before he pushes himself up and leaves without another word or even a glance in Patrick’s direction.

Patrick’s head hurts from suppressing the thoughts around him in order to focus on Gabe. There is no way he can do this to himself again. Pete was hard enough.

But he just can’t seem to _stop_.

 

\--

 

Patrick isn’t able to sleep even two days after he and Gabe kissed in the courtyard. He’s beyond angry with himself for letting things get out of hand and Pete is constantly on his ass asking him what’s wrong. To make it even worse, Gabe hasn’t spoken a word to him either.

He feels like the worst kind of guy and just doesn’t want to deal with himself. Instead he spends the nights pacing around the halls, listening to other people dream. It’s more soothing to know everyone else is at peace enough to sleep than to try to will himself unconscious.

He’s not expecting it when he comes to the turn in the hallway and sees Frank’s nightmare. Only Frank isn’t asleep. He’s wide awake and talking to Bob.

Patrick can’t hear what he’s saying, he can’t even hear him through the door when he gets close enough, but he can see their thoughts; the fear is tangible. Frank is telling Bob something, whatever that image is that’s floating through Patrick’s head where Frank is dying and Bob can do nothing to save him.

Patrick creeps closer. He can hear the light, muffled sounds of their voices, unable to actually make out the words. Instead, Patrick does something he hasn’t done in a long time, since Pete was hiding everything from him right after they broke up. He considered it then as his last resort to get to Pete and keep him at all. He knows he’s doing it now for reasons less noble, but he finds he doesn’t really care all that much as he closes his eyes and wraps his own thoughts around Frank’s and the ones he’s receiving from Bob.

He listens.

 

\--

 

“It’s just a dream, Frank.” Bob’s voice is low and calm and Frank closes his eyes for a moment to just try to relax.

Frank shakes his head to clear it. “They’re gonna find us again.”

“I’m not sure how much longer we can stay here. They probably know we’re here by now,” Bob admits quietly, reaching across the person-sized distance between where they sit on the bed to take his hand.

Frank takes it immediately, his palm sweaty against Bob’s bigger one. “You can’t hide me forever.”

“The fuck I can’t.”

Frank reaches his other hand up to rub his increasingly damp eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept in a lifetime even though he’d slept soundly the night before in Bob’s arms, his face against the other man’s neck and his hand on his side.

“If they know—”

“Then we leave,” Bob says, like it’s just that simple.

Frank shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back to rub at his temples, but Bob doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs Frank over, situating him between his legs with Frank’s back to his chest and rubs his head for him. Frank sighs and wraps both of his hands around Bob’s calves.

“I’m so fucking tired of being weak.” Frank’s voice is low and hollow-sounding.

Bob instantly switches from rubbing Frank’s temples to squeezing Frank with both arms around his chest and his face against the back of his neck. “You’re not fucking weak,” he says fiercely.

“God, you _know_ I am.” Anger leaks into Frank’s voice. “I can’t fucking _do_ anything.”

Bob’s fingers tighten in the material of Frank’s shirt and suddenly the lights dim before they go too bright the next second and the bulbs in the ceiling fan pop. There’s a small shower of glass and Frank pulls his feet up closer to him. “You’re being ridiculous,” Frank tells him.

“Jesus fuck, Frank, what do you want me to do?” Bob snaps, turning him slightly so they can meet one another’s eyes. The conviction with which Bob infuses his next statement makes Frank’s heart clench. “You want me to just say ’fuck it’ to the last _four years_ of our lives and the fact that I’m completely fucking in love with you?” He shakes Frank a little and Frank digs his fingers in, dropping his gaze a little to Bob’s lips before raising back to his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Frankie. I’m not gonna leave you and I’m sure as hell not letting you leave me.”

Frank twists quickly and slams his mouth against Bob’s so hard that Bob’s head cracks back into the wall. But they don’t stop. Bob’s hands come up to pull Frank further in against him. Their lips are crushed too tightly for tongues and their teeth keep clacking together, but neither stops until they slow enough for it to be less about the possession of it and more about the want.

It turns careful and slow, their lips wetting and sliding more easily when their tongues slip out to rub together. Frank tilts his head back and groans throatily, needy and he clings to Bob’s shoulders.

“Don’t let me go,” Frank whispers into the kiss.

Bob only stops to turn Frank onto his back and settle himself over top of him. He merely murmurs, “Never.” before leaning back in to capture Frank’s mouth with his own.

 

\--

 

Patrick doesn’t go back to his room; he doesn’t— _can’t_ be alone right now.

He taps in the access code to Pete’s room that only Pete and Control are supposed to know and slips inside.

Pete wakes the instant the door is pushed open, sitting upright with a glowing ball of energy crackling in his hand. It dissipates the moment he realizes it’s just Patrick.

“Jesus, Patrick. You have a death wish I don’t know about?” Pete is _so_ not awake enough for anything. His body is tense with adrenaline as he throws himself back down and stares expectantly at Patrick who simply crosses the distance to the bed and waits.

Pete’s brows furrow slightly but he lifts up the covers, questioning almost; Patrick crawls in and presses himself against Pete.

It takes more than a moment for Pete to breathe properly with Patrick back in his arms, in his bed. But he reigns in his control as fast as possible, hoping that maybe Patrick is too tired or distracted with whatever is on his mind to have read anything that just rocketed through his brain. All Patrick does is squirm in close and nudge his cold nose into Pete’s throat. Pete tightens his arms and holds on.

Patrick still hasn’t said a word by the time he falls asleep.

 

\--

 

Pete hovers above the scene, slumped in on himself and panting hard. They actually fucking won. Chadam’s body lay below on the street and what’s left of one of Bert’s group is splattered on the sidewalk and across a store’s front windows. Pete wants to laugh but he’s pretty sure he’s got at least one broken rib. He folds his arms around his chest and sinks to the ground.

But go figure Patrick was knocked out of commission almost instantly. He’s sitting upright now, holding Gabe’s folded up t-shirt against the side of his head, trying to stem the heavy flow of blood from his temple. Beside him, Gabe looks like he’s going to pass out.

“We’ve gotta get him back,” he tells Pete the second his feet ghost over the ground. Pete’s not going to step or move at all unless he has to; his chest _really_ fucking hurts.

Pete gestures for Patrick to move the shirt so he does. After a close up look Pete pulls back and Patrick cringes as he replaces the cloth. “Head wounds always bleed more than they should. He’s gonna be fine.”

Gabe gets to his feet and reaches out with both hands to lift Patrick up, but Patrick leans away from him. “Mikey’s coming, he can just teleport me back.”

The nod Gabe gives is stiff.

Mikey blinks into sight just behind Pete and steps around him to kneel down beside Patrick. He touches his arm, closes his eyes and then the two of them are gone, leaving Pete and Gabe to fly back.

Pete scoffs. “That fucker,” he says without a lot of feeling. “I think my lung is collapsing but he takes Patrick back. Nice.”

Gabe doesn’t have the chance to comment though because Pete cries out and tugs him sideways, narrowly avoiding having his entire body incinerated when a _massive_ shot of energy is fired at them. Pete slams into the side of the building beside them and barely has time to lean over to throw up at the pain that reverberates through his chest.

Without even considering fighting back, Gabe grabs Pete’s wilting form over his shoulder and bolts from the scene, through the sky.

 

\--

 

Pete comes to several hours later in the infirmary. He sits up carefully, his ribs bandaged and sore. He lets out a shaky breath as black spots appear in his vision; he waits until they clear to look around.

Patrick is close by, but not at his bedside; he’s sitting beside Gabe.

Pete’s brow furrows as he tries to remember what happened. Patrick forces Gabe’s memories into his head and Pete nearly gags at the pain of it. Patrick eases off instantly and turns to look at him.

Pete gapes for a second, rubbing at the side of his head and holding his chest lightly with the other hand.

“He’s okay?” Pete asks, inclining his head just slightly in Gabe’s direction.

Patrick’s response is to pick up Gabe’s forearm in gentle hands. Pete is nearly sick again when he realizes he didn’t actually manage to pull _all_ of Gabe entirely from the energy blast.

“He’s having a robotic one attached tomorrow,” Patrick tells him, lowering Gabe’s arm back down and smoothing out a bump in the bandages; they’re getting blood-soaked again, he needs to get one of the physicians back in here soon.

Pete gives himself time to breathe, only speaking when he doesn’t feel at risk for vomiting. “I tried,” he says.

Patrick stands then, pushing his chair back and crossing the short distance between the beds and climbing up into Pete’s. Patrick waits until Pete eases back down into a laying position before pressing in against his uninjured side. Pete folds his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and keeps him close.

“I know.”

And Pete _knows_ Patrick knows, because Patrick has seen Gabe’s memories. He knows exactly what happened as if he’d been there to witness it himself. But Pete wants him to be absolutely certain, he has to say it, if only for himself. Pete trails his fingers up Patrick’s neck to the bandage on his head.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says after a while.

“It’s not your fault I keep getting knocked out,” Patrick says with a shrug, being careful not to nudge Pete at all when he moves.

Pete closes his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Patrick’s sigh is as restricted as his movement. “Pete—”

“I didn’t do it for you.” That stops Patrick in his tracks. He knows Pete and Gabe don’t get along well; he knows even more that he’s the cause. He’d like to think Pete’s natural instinct would be to protect, but there are parts of Pete that even Patrick can’t reach. And it makes Patrick’s heart skip a few necessary beats when Pete finishes with, “But I would have.”

Patrick curls around Pete’s side tighter and feels the hand on his shoulder clamp down harder.

Patrick’s, “I know.” is choked.

 

\--

 

It’s not long enough after their last fight that Patrick finds himself practically hiding behind Pete. His head is fucking _throbbing_ from listening to Bert’s mind. He’d thought he had it all figured out. Patrick had linked into one of Bert’s dreams a few days ago but now it just feels like they’ve been set up. He rubs at his temples, crouched down behind Pete’s defensive stance.

He groans when Bert lashes out again. How Bert is getting into his head, he doesn’t know; but Patrick has a sudden newfound respect for Pete for every time Patrick has done this to him.

He reaches out and grasps the back of Pete’s pant leg.

Pete looks down at him and merely says, “Run.”

And that—that just doesn’t sound good.

“What?” Patrick asks, breath coming harder and harder as Bert fills his head with grisly images of things he’s either done or wants to do. Patrick isn’t sure which prospect is more frightening.

Pete gets knocked backwards by a gust of wind so powerful it’s visible. Patrick is suddenly on his own with the inability to think at all. He stumbles back to his feet as he hears the impact of Pete’s crash behind him. Patrick bears down on his thoughts and pushes back against Bert, who is alarmingly close to him. Patrick suddenly wishes he hadn’t been the one to train Bert on protecting his mind from invasion.

But this is _Patrick’s_ forte, it’s his _gift_ ; there’s no possible way Bert can use it better than him.

He pushes back, _hard_ , and Bert cries out, faltering back and pressing his palms down on his ears.

“Fuck!” he cries, steps staggering.

Patrick brings him to his knees, crying out repeatedly and then suddenly everything around them is engulfed in flame. Gerard’s in a trance, his eyes are wide open and completely white, his hands raised at his sides and he just seems to glow in the rapidly falling darkness—which Patrick doesn’t realize until later that Bob had caused to happen. Mikey is behind him, hand on his back and Gerard singes Bert behind a wall of flames and screams that taper off into the night.

 

\--

 

Patrick sits on the sidewalk with his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands. The heat from Gerard’s fire had ended up burning both of Patrick’s forearms; he’s not looking forward to another week or two in the infirmary and plenty more _and how does that make you feel?_ ’s. He cringes when the breeze hits his arms and he finds himself shaking from the pain.

A moment later a cold hand touches his shoulder and Patrick looks up at Gabe.

Gabe hadn’t actually been allowed to fight, but he’d apparently been watching, waiting to step in anyway. He has a dark smudge on his cheek that Patrick would venture to guess is soot from one of the buildings Gerard ended up burning to the ground.

Without saying a word, Gabe slides his hoodie off and wraps up the arm that was closest to the blaze and takes Patrick’s least injured hand in his own new robotic one. Gabe draws him to his feet and Patrick finds he can’t stop staring at the stark contrast between their fingers. The chill of the metal makes Patrick’s skin crawl, the damaged nerve endings protesting wildly when goosebumps break out, and that is almost enough to make him puke. Luckily Gabe lets go and lifts off the ground.

He waits for Patrick and they fly back slowly, Gabe in front to block the wind as much as possible from Patrick’s scorched flesh.

 

\--

 

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Gerard says, sounding completely exhausted the next morning.

Patrick rolls his head over on the pillow to focus on Gerard in the bed beside him; but Gerard isn’t looking at him.

“You’re the one who killed him,” Patrick reminds him. It’s strange to hear Gerard pay him such a compliment.

Gerard shrugs and tilts his head to meet Patrick’s gaze. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says simply.

And, yeah, that’s fairly true. “Still,” Patrick tells him, hesitant to accept the praise for simply doing his job.

“Still,” Gerard echoes quietly, his voice strong in the still air.

When Patrick looks back, Gerard is asleep and Mikey has materialized beside him, curled up around him on the bed. Patrick closes his own eyes and fades back to sleep.

 

\--

 

After a while, without Bert around to try to assassinate them every other week—or anyone else attempting to kill them for that matter—Patrick starts to feel like he’s falling into a rut, just living day to day. And he hates it.

He’s not allowed to leave so he spends the majority of his time out in the courtyard or—if Pete’s with him—out back as close to the woods as they can go without Control pitching a fit. They walk around together nearly every day, Pete forming little orbs of energy and flicking them at Patrick until Patrick loses his temper and knocks him down with one loud scream inside his head.

Every single day. Patrick would think Pete would learn. But it’s Pete, so he doesn’t hold out hope.

One day, though, Pete is twirling a light blue color around his fingers; it crackles like the sound of a static shock but flits around his fingers miniature light lightning bolts. Patrick watches fascinated until Pete reaches for his hand. Patrick tries to flinch back on instinct, but Pete holds him close and presses their palms together.

“Just don’t think about it,” Pete tells him calmly.

Patrick thinks that might be the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Telling Patrick not to think about things, when all he ever does is filter through other people’s thoughts and dreams, is like telling Pete to not be annoying.

But Patrick tries anyway and does the fairly impossible long enough to allow Pete to fold their fingers and the energy crackling around Pete’s hand to encircle Patrick’s.

The sight makes him gasp quietly, his skin turning blue, but not hurting. Pete keeps it under control for a good half minute before drawing it back in and letting it die.

When Pete releases his hand, Patrick stares down at it. It doesn’t feel or look any different but there’s a tightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a long fucking time. And when he looks up, Pete is closer, his hands coming up to Patrick’s shoulders; holding him steady, not pulling him in. Patrick all but leans up on the tips of his toes to accept the kiss when suddenly the sky just fades to black above them.

They snap apart instantly and Pete brings up his hands in an instinctual defensive move in front of Patrick. But as they look around, nothing happens, nothing changes, no one else appears. Pete cautiously reaches behind him for Patrick’s hand, and when he takes it, Pete pulls them both into a sprint back across the yard towards the building without a word.

 

\--

 

Inside, Bob is bursting every light he passes by. It’s pitch black dark in the middle of the afternoon around the complex and blindingly bright in other parts. Pete holds up his hand to shield his eyes as Bob fists his hands and the track lighting along the floor bursts and immediately catches fire.

He doesn’t seem to notice anything but Pete, whom he grabs and shakes with both hands fisted at his throat. “When was the last time you saw Frank?” Control members are approaching, one putting out the fire and the other three reaching out for Bob. Pete’s heart sinks into his stomach, but before he can ask anything, Bob shakes him hard enough to make his teeth snap together and his jaw ache. “When was the last time you saw Frank?” His voice is loud, frantic and tinged with hysteria.

It takes two Control members and Gabe to restrain and drag him down to confinement.

Patrick grabs blindly for Pete’s hand as the light slowly begins to return without Bob’s focus to keep it dark.

Pete squeezes back.

 

\--

 

Gabe paces the courtyard, now completely sealed off from the outside, save the light filtering in through the open plexiglass windows above. He’s not sure he’s ever seen it closed like this before and it’s not the least bit comforting to know their safety is in mind with Control.

How could it be when Frank has gone missing under nearly constant surveillance? He makes another round through the grass.

The evening air is cold and it makes his elbow hurt. Gabe would laugh at the fact that he’s so young and already has arthritis in his arm, if it weren’t for the fact that losing his entire hand was the cause of the pain.

He sighs and drops down close to the pond, watching several koi fish swimming close to the surface.

Patrick isn’t in stealth mode at all, but he still manages to make Gabe jump a little when he sits down beside him. He’d been lost in thought; Patrick knew, he’d been listening.

“How’s the hand?” he asks, crossing his legs and leaning forward with his arms tentatively braced on his thighs; sometimes the burns—although healed at this point—plague him with phantom pain.

Gabe lifts his robotic extremity and flexes its fingers. It still doesn’t feel enough like his own body part for him to call it his own. He wonders, not for the first time, if this is how Mikey feels constantly. “It’s all right. It’s still really stiff, I’m trying to break it in.”

Patrick arches an eyebrow and his mouth twitches a little. Gabe meets his eyes and then shoves Patrick lightly with said mechanical hand. “You’re a sick little thing.”

Patrick shrugs, “You set yourself up for that one.”

“Whatever,” Gabe says, looking back down at the fish, but grinning still. After a while of just listening to the wind blow overhead against the plexiglass above, Gabe mind-lifts a fist-size rock up from the edge of the pond and then tosses it out into the water.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna kill the fish.”

“So are you and Pete back together or something?”

That’s really not something Patrick was expecting to hear when he’d just accused Gabe of attempted fish murder. “What?” he asks a little weakly.

Gabe still doesn’t look at him but he shrugs a little again. “Just wondering.”

Patrick hasn’t given it too much thought, not really anyway. He looks down at the scar tissue of his wrists for a while, twisting them, watching the rough, dark pink skin move as Gabe waits impatiently beside him. He appears calm, but he’s not doing a very good job of biting his tongue in his thoughts. Patrick blocks those out as much as he can, storing them right alongside Bob’s terrible, helpless need to get Frank back.

“I don’t know,” he finally concedes.

Gabe shifts and draws his lanky legs up close to his chest before leaning his head on them and looking at Patrick. “I thought you kinda liked me.”

There’s a tiny grin on his face but Patrick can feel the dark curl of hurt winding down through his form, stemming from his chest.

Patrick opens his mouth to speak twice before he finally convinces his voice to work. “I do.”

Gabe’s eyes fall shut and he just seems to be focusing on breathing for a while. “So Pete is?”

“I don’t fucking know, Gabe,” Patrick says, unable to keep the helplessness from his voice at all. “I don’t know what to think anymore. He distracted me too much when I was with him and I know it’ll just happen again if we get back together. And it’ll be the same fucking thing if anything ever happened with you and me, but a whole different kind of bad because I wouldn’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know how to deal with _you_.”

Patrick takes a moment to wish he’d just shut up and walked away about fifty words back, but it’s too late for that, so he stays put and just wills his heart to slow back to a normal pace.

Gabe takes his sweet time to respond, sitting beside him with his eyes closed and his mouth open just slightly; like whatever amount of air he’s getting through his nose just isn’t enough to satisfy his lungs. When he finally blinks back at Patrick, he sits up and stretches his legs. But all he says is, “He saved my life.”

Patrick doesn’t even wait to read what’s really going on in Gabe’s head when he says that before he’s snapping back, “What the hell does that mean?”

Gabe pushes himself to his feet. “It means that I’m not gonna fuck him over to get what I want.”

Patrick is fuming, standing and fighting not to lash out with his mind at Gabe. “I am _not_ some sort of fucking bounty for you two to win.” Gabe’s eyes turn angry but Patrick doesn’t let him speak before Patrick does what he wishes he’d done back when he and Gabe had first kissed in this very same spot, what feels like, forever ago. He walks away.

 

\--

 

It’s one day short of a month that Frank has been missing, and Bob in a near-constant sedated state, when Patrick finally catches wind of where he’s at. He doesn’t tell anyone immediately though, because the last time they rushed into a battle with his knowledge, it turned out to be a completely avoidable trap.

He sits on the information for another two days before he nearly has a panic attack over what would happen if they never got Frank back or if Frank was killed when he knew exactly where he was. He tells Pete who takes him to tell Control.

No one alerts Bob to what everyone else is preparing for. Patrick’s not actually sure they’re going to tell him at all until they bring Frank back. Or his body.

Gabe avoids him like the plague, which causes a lot of unprompted sighing and dirty looks from Pete. Patrick isn’t willing to tell him what happened in the courtyard and Gabe sure as hell isn’t going to fill Pete in on the details.

So it’s with an awkward kind of truce that they set out with the brothers, silent amidst the tension, to try to rescue Frank.

 

\--

 

The part that Gabe thinks is just so unfair about dying is that he never really even got to try with Patrick.

Pete has Frank on his back, barely conscious and bleeding profusely from his side. “He’s gonna die,” Pete informs them, completely unnecessarily. Gabe finds himself nodding without looking, even as they get pushed further back into the room.

Gerard has been knocked out, Mikey hovering over him in the far corner of the room. He set the blaze that’s keeping them trapped, and now he can do nothing to stop it. Mikey is looking over at them, the still human part of his face is tight with worry, but his main concern is his brother. They all know that; Mikey won’t save anyone over Gerard.

Frank groans in Pete’s ear and Pete jumps, realizing that Frank’s shoe has caught on fire. “Fuck, Patrick!”

Patrick jerks around in time to yank it off before it can set him up in flames and tosses it away from them.

Gabe just keeps chewing his lip, pushing Patrick further back. It isn’t even that it would be so hard for them to escape, it’s the fact that it’s one of _Gerard’s_ fires. It’s so hot it’s tinged mostly purple and spreading too close, too fast. They’re completely trapped. Mikey suddenly blinks out with Gerard held against him and it’s just that easily that Gabe realizes they’re probably not making it out of this one.

When Patrick coughs from the smoke Gabe doesn’t even think about it. He reaches out with his mind and pushes back at the heat. It’s almost too much, he cries out and his knees nearly buckle. 

Patrick gasps and coughs again, but grabs at his shoulders with a startled, “Gabe!”

“Take Frank!” he groans, the pain quickly becoming unbearable, his mind shutting down. “Break the wall, Pete.”

Pete practically throws Frank’s bleeding-out body at Patrick, who cradles him as carefully as he can. Pete blows a hole in the wall at the exact same moment the heat becomes just too much and Gabe lets go. The room explodes.

Pete gets thrown out so violently it looks as though he were tugged by a rope around his middle. Patrick smashes into the jagged brick and mortar, and can’t even attempt to soften the blow because his only instinct is to hold onto Frank. He falls.

 

\--

 

When he wakes up, it’s not even so much of coming to as it is an out of body experience. Patrick’s rushed, frantic voice and hands are running over him, through his mind. But Gabe can’t focus. He can’t even open his eyes to see. He’s pretty sure his robotic hand is gone, along with the rest of his arm. He feels himself blink, his eyes cracked open and Patrick gasps—he sounds as though he’s crying or on the verge of it—he realizes he couldn’t look even if he wanted to; he’s completely blind.

“Gabe, please, _please_ hold on,” Patrick touches his burned cheek and Gabe groans weakly, which only leads to coughing and blood in his mouth.

Dying fucking blows.

“Mikey’s coming back, we’ll get you back, Gabe.” That’s Pete’s voice, his brain tells him. The thought feels slow, sluggish, like his mind isn’t at full capacity yet. Or maybe like a bit of it is missing, the connection to his ability singed apart. He doesn’t want to think _forever_ but it just sort of happens.

He laughs.

Patrick clutches at his only hand; and even though it hurts to the point of tears, Gabe grips back, as best he can.

He wants to tell Patrick that he’s in love with him, loves him, always has, that he’s sorry it took him so long to grow a pair, that he’ll never get the chance to show Patrick any of it. Absently he wonders if Pete will get Patrick now, if he’ll keep him this time. Or if Patrick will keep Pete. He can’t remember how it happened; he’s so _tired_.

“Gabe, _please_ ,” Patrick’s voice fades out.

Gabe can’t decide if it’s irony or pure poetry that he’s pretty sure the last thing he’ll ever hear is Patrick’s voice while his heart rate begins a rapid and final decent.

_Poetry_.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [shadyfob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadyfob) for being my liaison to bandom.
> 
> This was meant to be a series but I only ever wrote parts two and four.


End file.
